


Searching For Game...

by AsheRhyder



Series: Searching For Game [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Identity Porn, M/M, Online Friendship, Online Relationship, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 04:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/pseuds/AsheRhyder
Summary: “What do you want?” Jesse crossed his arms and put on his least gullible scowl. Genji held up a green plastic box. “You have got to be kidding me.”“Please?” Genji whined.“Didn’t you spend an entire week mocking me for getting a console? ‘But Jesse, real gamers play PC!’”--Genji wants McCree to play the new game he helped develop: Overwatch.McCree just wants his hot upstairs neighbor to stop throwing food at him every time he says "hello".





	Searching For Game...

**Author's Note:**

> This fic references several problems involved in video games and online gaming, but does not extensively detail the events or issues. 
> 
> Several real people have been replaced with fictional ones for the purpose of this story. Many apologies go out to them. Any resemblance to real companies or products seen in this fic are purely for entertainment purposes only.

_ Connecting to server… _

 

Despite the first impressions he gave and the occasional teasing of his friends, Jesse McCree was actually a smart man. He had to be, making a living as a writer focused on historical non-fiction, and he had to be good with his words, too. That was why it frustrated and confused him to no end that he and his upstairs neighbor in 3B were incapable of having a simple civil conversation. 

3B was a handsome, quiet fellow. The name on his mailbox read “Shimada”, but that was practically all Jesse knew about him except that he was very much not a morning person and that he tended towards violence when startled. 

Their first encounter came when Jesse staggered back to his apartment at five-thirty in the morning after a week-long out of town conference on the history of the American West, at which he had been a keynote speaker. He’d fumbled with his lock in a sleep-deprived haze, only to realize that all sounds of progress were actually coming from above him. 3B stumbled around the landing and made it down the stairs, clutching a disposable coffee cup like it was a lifeline. 

3B had been empty when Jesse left on his trip; 3A’s tenants were a lovely couple of women who could be forgiven for being morning people, and 3C was a tiny environmentalism professor who seemed to have no limit to her enthusiasm, so the man had to be new. Jesse, in what he would later attribute to momentary insanity, decided to be neighborly and say hello. 

“Howdy.” 

3B jumped and threw his coffee. Some ancestral shit-starter’s genetic memory kicked in, and Jesse ducked under the cup, which splashed against his door. For a moment they both stood frozen, watching coffee drip down the frame. 3B choked a word that may have been an apology or a curse and bolted like a startled animal. 

Jesse was too tired to really process what happened. He went inside, went to bed, and slept for ten hours to recover from jetlag. When he woke up, his door had been scrubbed clean, and there was no sign of the coffee attack ever occurring. He would have written the whole thing off as a dream but for the fact that every time 3B saw him first, the man managed to disappear before Jesse could say a word. 

It was a pity, Jesse thought. 3B looked like a fellow who could use a drinking buddy. 

Just so long as that drink wasn’t coffee, of course. 

 

_ Loading… _

Like most people who visited Casa de McCree, Genji only bothered to knock when his hands were full. He had a distinct kick-pattern that made him easy to recognize, so Jesse didn’t feel too bad about pretending to not be home. Genji with his hands full meant trouble, and Jesse had only just settled in for the evening with a beer and a movie. Still, it had been a few weeks since he last saw his friend, and Genji only ever had his hands full of one thing… 

Jesse sighed and got up to go help with the pizza. 

“Finally,” Genji groaned in relief, handing over the stack of warm boxes and folded bags on top. 

“Holy Hell, did you bring the whole damn pizzeria?” Jesse hissed. He teetered to try and keep the bags balanced and eventually manage to get them onto the kitchen table. 

“I got cheesey bread and those chocolate things with the fudge inside that you like.” Genji replied with what Jesse recognized as feigned indifference. 

“The ones  _ you _ like so much you never share? The ones you typically eat on the way over, or have licked to claim dibs?” He drawled. “Those chocolate things?” 

“That was one time.” 

“Three times. Don’t forget Lena’s birthday party.” 

“Oh, right.” 

“What do you want?” Jesse crossed his arms and put on his least gullible scowl. Genji held up a green plastic box. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Please?” Genji whined. 

“Didn’t you spend an entire week mocking me for getting a console? ‘But Jesse, real gamers play PC!’ Elitist jackass.” 

“I did. I’m sorry. It was elitist and hurtful. I was wrong.” 

“... yeah, that’s not making me feel any less apprehensive.” 

“C’mon. Just try it.” 

“And  _ them’s _ not famous last words at all.” 

Genji sighed and slumped. 

“I understand.” He popped open the pizza box, ignoring his chocolate things. 

Jesse held out through his first piece of pizza because he was a badass, but gave in after one of the chocolate cakes because he wasn’t, as much as he tried, a hardass.

“All right,” he said, licking warm, gooey fudge off his fingers. “What is it.” 

“First Person Shooter, but more comic-book style than realistic.” Genji perked up as quickly as if he’d been plugged in. He scrambled over the back of Jesse’s couch to grab the box. 

“Good. I saw enough of that army crap to last me a lifetime.” McCree’s eyes darkened, but Genji shoved the box into his hands. 

“I did designs on the characters! There’s a lot more color here.” 

Jesse stared at the girl in the orange jumpsuit on the cover. 

“Did you give her anime legs? She’s like a goddamn deer or something.” 

Genji glared at him. 

“She’s a cartoon,” he said. “Some proportions are exaggerated.” 

Jesse gave him a flat look. 

“Not like that!” 

“Gaming ain’t got such a great history with sexualized character designs…” 

“At least let me load it before you start criticizing?” 

Jesse patiently made his way through another slice of pizza and half his beer before Genji got the game installed, updated, and synched with the servers. The younger man practically bounced in his seat while they sat through the opening animatic, and Jesse raised an eyebrow at the talking gorilla who pleaded with them to help save the world. 

“He sounds like Winston,” Jesse said. “You remember, that big guy from campus who was built like a linebacker and talked like Deep Blue?” 

Genji hummed absently; Jesse took that as a hint that the memory may have influenced the design. 

Two characters were available while the game finished installing, and Jesse regarded them with a critical eye as he took them through the tutorial. 

The Soldier seemed like a standard military-themed FPS main character who managed to stay on active duty into his late sixties, complete with an arsenal of cheesy dad jokes and gruff military voice lines. 

The Time-Traveler was more of a headache - the leggy girl from the cover ‘blinked’ all over the map, up to and including back to ledges she’d just fallen off. She was cheerful in contrast to The Soldier’s grumpy, though Jesse decided to spare Genji a lecture on slang regions and dialect maps for both their sakes. 

“Cute,” he said instead. “I like how The Soldier’s wearing what looks like biker leathers.” 

“Just wait until the rest finish loading,” Genji promised, not-so-surreptitiously preening. 

Jesse adjusted the sensitivity until he felt comfortable and put the characters through their paces. Eventually, the console popped up the notice that installation was finished, and he backed out to the main menu. 

“All right. What do you need from me?” He asked, putting down the controller. 

“Two things,” said Genji. “I want your feedback on the characterizations--” 

“You know I’m not that kind of writer, right? And don’t y’all actually pay people to write these things? Y’know, people who actually build video games for a living?” 

“--and I want you to be my spy on chat for console.” 

“I’m sorry, what now?” 

“To answer your first point: this game is a labor of love. We all have our favorites in here, and I need someone unbiased to tell me when we are getting out of hand. Preferably before we pander too much to ourselves.” 

“Don’t y’all have beta testers or some shit for that?” 

“They test for functionality. Besides, no one is going to tell the person paying them that their favorite character is getting too many voice lines.” 

“... pretty sure that’s exactly what they’re paid for, and there’s social media too, but fine, I’ll humor you.” Jesse sighed. “Now what’s this about spying on chat?” 

“I have the PC version. I am on their chat servers. I want to know what the console people say.” Genji shrugged. “What if there are sexist trolls?” 

“What do you mean, ‘if’?” Jesse shook his head. “Damn assholes are worse than weeds.” 

“You can help me catch them.” Genji tempted. “Ride in like a cowboy on a white horse--” 

“I think it’s knights that get the white horses,” Jesse said. “Cowboys get white hats. Well, some of ‘em do, anyway.” 

“Whatever.” Genji rolled his eyes. “The other developers are asking their friends, too.” 

“What, you mean there’s more than just you what have heathen, console-playing friends?” 

Genji elbowed him. 

“I would still like you to play. Please.” 

“Well, shit, I already said I would. You didn’t have to break out the big guns.” Jesse picked up the controller again and scrolled through the Heroes Gallery. “The Archer, The Reaper, The Knight, The D.J.-- what the hell is a D.J. doing in an FPS?” 

“He is a freedom fighter! He shoots soundwaves!” 

“... all right then… The Engineer, The Cowboy-- hey!” Jesse pulled up the character file and stared at the screen. “Did you steal my momma’s serape design?” 

Genji shifted awkwardly, trying to hide the pattern on the large red and gold cloth draped over the back of the couch. 

“No…” 

Jesse rotated the joystick to get a better look at the model. Genji squirmed. Jesse gave him a side-eye that cut like a knife. 

“It was an accident!” 

“How do you accidentally copy my momma’s serape?” 

“I was drawing patterns for clothing textures and I really liked it, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen it!” Genji whined. “I did not recall until after we had launched.” 

Jesse just shook his head. 

“Momma would be so disappointed in you.” 

“Harsh.” 

“You better do something real nice for her in the game. Maybe put her in one of those background adverts or something.” 

“I do not know what-- OH! I have an idea!” Genji scribbled something on a napkin. “Give me some time.” 

Jesse nodded peaceably and shuffled through a few more characters before finally settling on The Archer to practice. Genji made an aggrieved face, some kind of bastard hybrid between surprise, grief, and revulsion. 

“You want to play  _ him _ ?” 

“Why not?” Jesse shrugged. “He looks like a right interesting fella.” 

“You did read his background story, right?” Genji’s tone strangled beneath some unidentifiable undercurrent. 

“Killed his brother at the behest of his family, has been trying to atone ever since.” Jesse nodded. “I can get that. Besides, you know me. I love a good redemption story.” 

Genji mumbled something under his breath that Jesse didn’t quite catch. He didn’t pick a different character, though; he took The Archer through the practice room, testing the fire-to-hit delay and draw strength mechanic. 

“I didn’t make him to be likeable,” Genji finally muttered. “Or relatable.” 

“No?” Jesse hummed and crit-shot a floating robot. “You ain’t learned by now that everyone will find something different to relate to?” 

“I thought you’d play The Cowboy,” he admitted. He gestured pointedly at the southwestern style decor of Casa de McCree.

“I spend too much time reading and writing about real cowboys to play one in a game that’s got talking gorillas, knights in rocket-powered armor, the boogeyman, and a guy who looks like he popped out of someone’s Kurosawa-inspired wet dreams.” 

Genji stared at him in horror. 

“Never describe The Archer like that again. I beg of you.” 

Jesse chuckled and lined up another critical hit. 

“You designed him, not me.” 

“A decision I am quickly and immensely coming to regret, believe me.” 

Jesse just made The Archer pose.

 

_ Level One _

Genji went home sometime after getting Jesse set up in chat, looped into a group with another game developer under the name EDGEDKING and his friend STRKMNDR76. Jesse wasn’t entirely sure of the time; matches distorted his internal clock in chunks of twelve and twenty seconds, and EDGEDKING and STRKMNDR76 kept a running, bickering commentary that blurred the rest into an incessant stream of good-natured teasing and salty observations. 

“I got shot in the head by a blue ballerina.” STRKMNDR76 grunted. “My life is now complete. I can die satisfied.” 

“Maybe if you found some cover and didn’t stand there like a giant glowing target, you wouldn’t get headshot so much,” EDGEDKING replied. 

“I don’t have mobility when I ult. Maybe if someone brought their big-ass shield in front of me--” 

“Maybe if you stopped running off on your own--” 

It went on like that, even during skirmish. As amused as Jesse was, he eventually managed to pry himself away. It was a struggle to get his bearings again. Genji had, the ungrateful little shit, left the pizza boxes in the kitchen on top of the trash can. Jesse weighed the temptation to leave them there versus the likelihood that he’d end up forgetting them until he had something to throw away and no free hands to move them. He sighed and carried them out to the dumpster. 

Mist and pre-dawn rain coated everything in a soft shine as the sun began its climb into the sky. Jesse sighed and wondered where his night went and navigated around the puddles some earlier passerby left on the hallway floor. Halfway to his door, he heard footsteps on the stairs. 

3B shuffled down, coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other. 

“Watch your step,” Jesse called out, which was, in retrospect, probably a mistake. 3B jumped at the sudden sound. Fortunately, he didn’t throw his coffee. Unfortunately, he threw his bagel. 

Jesse McCree’s ancestral shit-starter was pushed aside by an even more talented shit-stopper, who reached out through genetic memory and tugged on Jesse’s reflexes so that he caught the bagel in one hand just before it would have smacked him in the face. 3B made a choked noise of surprise and coughed out a word made as much of raw dismay as it was apology. Then he disappeared down the stairs so fast that Jesse leaned over the railing to make sure he didn’t fall. 

“You forgot your breakfast!” he called to the suddenly empty foyer, but 3B made no reappearance to claim it. He sighed and looked at the bagel. Still warm. “Well, free food’s free food.” 

And, munching on the bagel, he went inside. 

 

_ Level 10 _

Jesse found it funny how quickly time passed now that he had a new game to play. He’d lost hours to games before, but those were usually RPGs or story-driven adventures. First Person Shooters tended to give him a headache or do bad things to his mood overall, but Genji was right about the cartoon atmosphere making it easier for him to distance himself from the elements that set him off. 

Within a month he was part of a decent-sized circle of players who stood up to the worst elements of the chat. There were friends and friends of friends and even a few others like EDGED and 76 who had connections to the game’s development, though no one ever outright identified themselves as a developer without one of the other developers doing it first. 

It was nice to feel like he was contributing to something bigger, towards creating a healthier gaming environment where people wouldn’t tell SKEYEROCKETZ to “get in the kitchen and make them a sandwich” just because she was a.) a girl, and b.) mained The Angel. Jesse met her in Competitive, and she shot his Archer in the face to death twice, but there were plenty of assholes online who were too dumb to recognize a player’s skill even as she systematically wiped out half their team. 

Sometimes they went in small groups, actively patrolling for malicious players to shut down or report. Sometimes they went in as a whole team and just played for the sheer enjoyment. Either way, Jesse was having more fun with the game than he’d had in a long time. 

Genji preened when Jesse finally decided to tell him so. 

“But of course!” the designer beamed. “I told you that you would!” 

“You bribed me with chocolate cakes,” Jesse laughed. Over the headset, EDGED snorted. 

“Is that Shimada I hear on your end?” EDGED asked. “Tell the little green-haired bastard I said “hi”.” 

“Shima--who now?” Jesse cursed as he had to make the Archer run up a wall to try and escape an incoming Tank. 

“Shimada. Genji. Five-foot-eight, big mouth, likes to think he hung the fucking sun…” 

Jesse turned to Genji. 

“Your last name is Shimada too?” 

“I told you this when we met!” Genji threw his hands up in the air. 

“We met at one of Reinhardt’s parties. I got crowned the King of Shots.” Jesse reminded him. “You’re lucky I ever remembered you had a first name, let alone a last.” 

“Wait, what do you mean, too?” Genji blinked. Jesse sighed as The Tank landed a lucky hit that killed his character. By the time he respawned, the match would be over. He put down the controller and turned to face his friend.

“My upstairs neighbor’s a Shimada, too. You know, the jumpy one in 3B?” 

“Woman or man?” 

“I can’t even say hello without getting something thrown at me. You honestly think I managed to catch pronouns? I’m gonna guess man, but hell if I know.” 

“What do they look like, then?” 

“‘Bout your height, broad shoulders, kinda lean in the legs.” Jesse said. “Probably would cut himself on his own cheekbones if he actually smiled.” 

“Did you see any tattoos?” 

“The hell? No, 3B’s usually pretty buttoned up. I think he’s some kind of businessman or something.” 

Genji squirmed. 

“You mind telling me what the inquisition’s all about?” 

“Probably nothing,” Genji sighed. 

“Mmm.” Jesse watched The Tank get play of the game and relived his Archer’s brutal demise. Through The Tank’s screen he got a lovely view of it rolling over his dead body. “Y’all got the same eyebrows, though.” 

Genji sat bolt upright. 

“Who?” He demanded. 

“You, The Archer, and 3B--” Jesse watched as Genji vaulted over the couch and out the door, leaping up the stairs to the next floor while hardly touching the ground. Jesse patiently voted, reviewed his medals, backed out of the game to the main menu, and took off his headset. He muted the TV and listened in case of screaming. 

Upstairs, Genji pounded on the door. 

“Hanzo! Hanzo?” 

“Genji?!”

And there was the door slamming shut. 

Genji knocked again and started yelling in Japanese, faster than Jesse’s limited fluency could follow. Eventually the door opened again, and the shouting died down to levels that indicated Genji was permitted inside.

“Hanzo, huh?” Jesse mused, watching The Archer glance suspiciously around the main loading screen. He grabbed his lighter and his smokes and wandered out to his porch. The building was built subtly stepped, so when he leaned back against his railing he could see part of the balcony above him. Muffled Japanese arguments gained volume and clarity as 3B -- Shimada --  _ Hanzo _ \--  stormed closer to the glass doors. Jesse rolled his cigarillo to the side of his mouth as Hanzo threw open the balcony doors and stepped out. 

“Howdy,” Jesse said, waving up at him. 3B --  _ Hanzo _ \-- went from red-faced with rage to ashen with dread too quickly to be healthy. 

“Brother--” Genji came up behind him, but Hanzo back-peddled fast enough to push him back inside and abruptly shut the doors. 

“Well now.” Jesse put out his cigarillo and meandered back inside, scrolling through the Heroes Gallery between The Archer and The Ninja. “Brothers, huh? Don’t that just beat all…” 

 

By the time Genji came back, Jesse had leveled up again and collected two gold skins in the loot boxes. EDGED signed off after extracting a promise for more details later as payback for taking off his headset when things were getting interesting. 

“Glad to see you’re still among the living.” Jesse drawled as Genji collapsed across the couch. “Mind explaining that little bit of drama for those of us that didn’t catch the subtitles?” 

“How come you never told me you lived below my brother?” Genji demanded instead. Jesse would have rolled his eyes, but he wouldn’t have been able to headshot a Ninja running after his team’s healer. 

“One, I didn’t know you had a brother; you ain’t mentioned him before.” He said. “Two, I don’t automatically assume everybody I know with the same last name is related, especially when I don’t know how common or uncommon that name is.” 

“I thought he was going to stay in the family business.” Genji sunk deeper into the couch cushions. “I thought I’d never see him again.” 

“So you put him in a video game and made him your self-insert’s murderer?” Jesse scoffed. “We gotta have words about your coping mechanisms.” 

“Says the man who deals with stress by walking into the desert alone.” 

“It’s called camping, Genji.” 

“No, I have been camping on company retreats. Camping involves poorly assembled tents, accidents with lighter fluid, and s’mores.” Genji rolled over and glared at him. “I can’t believe you main my brother.” 

“I can’t believe you put your family issues in a video game and released it to the public.” Jesse shrugged. “How’s he feel about that?” 

Genji buried his face in back in the sofa cushions and groaned. Jesse continued to systematically hunt down The Ninja player to hear his death scream. After another few minutes, Genji propped himself up on his elbows. 

“In the story of the game, The Archer and The Ninja are reunited. They even have a chance to reconcile.” He said quietly. “When I left home, I swore I would not return, and my brother said that the family would never receive me. That was supposed to include him. There are few things I miss about the place where I grew up. The relationship we once had is one of them. I thought, if I could not have my brother back, at least my character could have his.” 

Jesse hummed thoughtfully and switched his stalking to a persistent Cowboy who kept trying to say “hello”. 

“And yet here he is, living just upstairs.” He said. “Funny old world, innit?” 

“Funny old world.” 

 

_ Level 50 _

Genji came by more frequently after that, often using Jesse’s apartment as a refuge before and after his visits to his brother. 

“I oughta start charging you rent,” Jesse grumbled unconvincingly, liberating a pile of his reference books from under Genji’s head as the younger man sulked. 

“I pay you in my good company.” 

“In that case, you’re short.” 

The revelation of 3B’s identity as Genji’s long lost brother did little to improve the relationship between Jesse and his upstairs neighbor, however. Jesse hadn’t expected them to suddenly become friends, but he had hoped at least that the food-throwing phase had passed. 

He was unfortunately incorrect. 

One night, two weeks after the unexpected reunion, Jesse caught Hanzo on the stair as the other man was returning to his apartment with a bag of carry-out. Hanzo’s eyes were downcast and his brow furrowed with distraction, which was probably why he didn’t notice Jesse until he called out. 

“Well hey there,” Jesse said, a mistake he kept making. Hanzo gave an abrupt full-body flinch that resulted in him accidentally tossing the bag in the air. A spray of fries flew out and rained down on Jesse’s head, catching on the brim of his hat while his ancestors shook their heads in defeat and let him suffer the indignity as punishment for not learning his lesson. Jesse held out his hand and caught the remainder of the bag as Hanzo watched, frozen in horror. 

“Darlin’,” he sighed, “we gotta stop meeting like this.” 

Hanzo made a pained noise and vanished up the stairs before Jesse could say anything. 

Between the skittish, food-throwing neighbor, having to reschedule three meetings with friends over the next month, and a stack of research on cattle-drive routes so badly copied that his eyes crossed by time he got halfway down a page, Jesse had enough of the day’s demands. The larder wasn’t so bare that he’d have to face the grocery store. He went inside and logged on to Genji’s game. 

His first couple of matches went fine: he didn’t need to say much in the chat and could just hang out on his perch, sniping attackers as they came. Then some people dropped out of the game, and then a few more did, until it booted him to find a new group. 

_ Searching for game… _ said the display. Story of his life. Always waiting to find an opening in the busy, busy world of other people’s lives. He supposed that was what he got for being in a solitary profession with irregular hours. 

He was about to get up to get a drink when the screen abruptly changed, dropping him in as a backfill for a game on defense. The team, he noticed quickly, was unbalanced enough that someone had probably rage-quit to give him an opening. 

A level 50 Engineer dragged along a level 1 Ninja on their team, but everyone else was spread between the upper 90’s and mid-40’s. Predictably, the level 1 appeared to be having some problems. 

Jesse pulled up his team screen and checked the new player’s name. 

“Hey, DRAGONBORN,” he said in chat. “You don’t have to waste your charge attack to get up to this level. Just hold the jump button while you move to the wall. It’ll automatically take you up.” 

Someone else in the chat muttered something about n00bs. 

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, JUNKRAT. You leave off. Their aim’s fine, and Ninja’s abilities take some getting used to.” 

“You’re such a white hat,” Junkrat whined. “Sittin’ there like you’re such a good guy, snipin’ anyway who comes through the choke point.” 

Jesse rolled his eyes and relocated back to the objective point. The Ninja followed him, easily adjusting to the climbing mechanic now that it had been explained. With two thirds of the team camped on the enemy’s spawn, there really wasn’t much for the two guards left to do. DRAGONBORN practiced running around the level, but there was no sign of The Engineer from their team or any other players. 

Jesse sent The Archer’s recon arrow to check; everyone else was holding out so far. DRAGONBORN paused, and a moment later a text message popped up. Jesse skimmed it quickly. 

“ _ Thnx, _ ” said DRAGONBORN. 

“ _ Np _ ,” Jesse replied in the messenger. “ _ U in chat? _ ” 

“ _ No headset yet _ .” DRAGONBORN wrote back. “ _ New to multiplayer _ .” 

“ _ Sorry to hear ur catching heat so soon. _ ” 

A Hacker came up behind Jesse’s Archer and disabled his abilities, not that it really did her much good as his new Ninja friend went to town on her. For a new guy, he had almost freakishly good aim. 

Jesse shot off a thanks voice line. The Ninja bowed. Jesse got an invitation to join DRAGONBORN’s team at the end of the match. The Engineer, an equally silent player with the palindrome tag NOWIWON, never gave either of them any kind of acknowledgement. They played a couple more rounds. DRAGONBORN cycled through characters without settling on any one in particular, while Jesse tended to go with The Archer unless the team was missing a strategic role. People drifted in and out of the game until eventually Jesse was left staring at the main screen with the little “searching for game” message at top. He blinked a few times, staring at The Archer’s cool expression as he twirled an arrow between his fingers. Up close, Jesse could see the resemblance that Genji snuck into the design. The Archer had the same proud frown, the same sharp profile that Jesse got to see every time he caught his upstairs neighbor in passing. 

He sighed. 

The game console alerted him to a new message from DRAGONBORN. 

“ _ Thank you for your assistance today. I was just given the game as a gift. I have to log off, but I appreciate your patience. _ ”

“ _ NP _ ,” Jesse shot back immediately, hoping to catch the other player before they signed out. “ _ How’d u get that tag, btw? Big Skyrim fan? _ ”

There was a brief pause, and Jesse canceled out of the game search. Sleep and a decent circadian rhythm beckoned teasingly, without any real promise of commitment. 

DRAGONBORN responded: “ _ First time multiplayer doesn’t mean first time gaming. I’ve had this tag since the first gen you could make a profile. _ ”

Jesse did some quick math and sat back, pleasantly amused. Whoever DRAGONBORN was away from the console, they had to be at least close to his age. 

“ _ Dunno how you made it this long without multiplayer, _ ” Jesse wrote back. 

“ _ A crippling addiction to RPGs. _ ”

Jesse was impressed with how witty a conversationalist DRAGONBORN was outside of the time constraints of a match. If it weren’t for the lateness of the hour, he would have tried to chat more. Instead, he tagged the other player as a friend and went to bed.

 

_ Updating… _

He dreamed of the bright, cartoon-like streets of Japan as depicted in Genji’s game, of wandering under perpetually falling cherry blossoms and over rooftops, of watching dragons dance through the clouds. 

The next morning there was a letter taped to his door, addressed to 2B. Jesse stared at it blankly for a moment until he remembered it was his apartment number, rather than some coded reference. 

_ To the resident of Unit 2B,  _

__ __ (it read in sharp, elegant handwriting that looked like the writer had practiced for years to master)

_ I apologize sincerely for my rudeness in response to your attempts at greeting me. I react poorly to being startled, and though I may be walking upright in the morning, I am frequently not fully awake until much later. I shall endeavor to be more aware of my surroundings in the future. _

__ __ __ _ Sincerely,  _

__ __ __ __ _ Shimada Hanzo _

 

Jesse blinked and re-read the letter. A smile crept over his face, fondness welling up beneath his ribs and behind his jaw despite himself. 

“Well now,” he murmured. “How about that.” 

 

It only took a moment for him to decide to write back. His coffee cooled on the counter as he dug through the clutter of books, notes, and assorted supplies on his desk to find a clean sheet of paper and a working pen. 

 

_ Dear Shimada-san, _

__ __ (he wrote back, lamenting the wild slant of his own letters that looked careless in comparison)

_ Please don’t worry  _ (he scrapped a draft where he kept going:  _ your pretty little head _ )  _ about it. My fault entirely for calling out to a fellow who looks half-asleep. I hope you’re settling in just fine. Feel free to knock if you’re ever in need of some neighborly assistance. _

__ __ __ _ Regards,  _

__ __ __ __ _ Jesse McCree _

 

He taped the note to Hanzo’s door and spent the rest of the day feeling rather pleased with himself. The feeling carried him through mapping out cattle driving routes and the spread of American urbanization, which would have been a depressing subject otherwise. 

 

The day continued its trend of pleasant surprises as he signed onto his console and discovered that DRAGONBORN added him back as a friend. Jesse’s friends list was an eclectic mix, mostly made up of people he’d played with on specific games and promptly fallen out of touch with when they moved on to the next title. There were quite a few he didn’t even remember adding, and he kept promising himself he’d go through and clean out the list, but he never did. For this reason, he didn’t realize right away that DRAGONBORN was also logged on, at least until he booted up Genji’s game and saw him under the social alerts. 

He sent a message through the console’s system: “ _ Howdy! _ ” 

The response came quickly. DRAGONBORN probably wasn’t in an actual game yet. 

“ _ I thought you played The Archer. Are you switching to The Cowboy? _ ”

“ _ LOL. No. Just checking in with you. You found a fav to main yet? _ ”

“ _ I want The Cowboy _ .” 

Jesse chuckled and glanced back at his mother’s serape. She would have been amused, he thought, to see her design on a character people liked. 

“ _ Good choice. You got good aim and don’t need to get distracted with tricky mechanics _ .” 

“ _ I have been practicing. _ ” 

Jesse tried to imagine a person, probably on their couch or chair, staring at the screen with single-minded determination. What came to mind instead was the image of The Cowboy standing in the practice range, slow as the seconds before noon in a Western duel. He shook his head to clear it. 

“ _ You wanna play? _ ” He asked, and immediately received an invitation to group in response. Jesse grinned and began the search for a new game. 

 

_ Level 75 _

It went on like that for a while. In the mornings, there would be notes on his door from Hanzo-in-3B. They tended to be short, polite to the point of apologetic, and rarely contained any real information about the writer. Many of them were questions pertaining to local businesses, sussing out which were worthwhile to visit and which to avoid. It wasn’t quite the kind of neighborly assistance he was expecting to offer, but at least he wasn’t getting food thrown at him. 

In the evenings, he played Genji’s game. Sometimes he played with EDGED and 76, sometimes he played with DRAGONBORN, who, once he got the hang of the special abilities, turned out to be a right menace with The Cowboy. DRAGONBORN eventually picked up a headset too, and even joined him and the ring of chat watchers. 

DRAGONBORN, Jesse discovered, had a low, rough voice that almost sounded like musical whispering until he got annoyed, at which point it turned into a regal storm. Jesse could listen to it for hours. 

“They are taking the objective; stop them!” DRAGONBORN snapped, stuck waiting for a respawn. 

“On my way,” Jesse answered, climbing up a wall to get to a vantage point. He sent one of The Archer’s scatter arrows into the little room under the lighthouse. 

“Sniper! Move!” DRAGONBORN shouted, suddenly causing Jesse to drop his character off the wall. He still took damage, but not as much as he would have had the still been there for a headshot. 

“Much obliged, darlin’.” He said. Dead silence answered from the other side, at least until someone else in the chat started giggling. 

“You sound like The Cowboy,” she giggled, “but you play The Archer. And he sounds like The Archer, but he plays The Cowboy. It’s like a switched ship.” 

“A what now?” Jesse blinked. 

“Urk.” DRAGONBORN choked. 

“A switched ship,” said LUVDVA. “You know. A couple. Except when you play together, you swap characters.” 

“I never heard of that.” Jesse mused. “Guess that’s one way couples can keep the spice in the relationship.” 

DRAGONBORN wheezed slightly and said nothing. 

 

_ Level 90 _

Genji threw himself onto Jesse’s couch one night when Jesse was actually trying to work. He had on most of a very nice suit in a state of very poor dishabille, and he collapsed across the armrest like a melodramatic teenager lamenting the end of their world. 

“That,” Genji groaned, “Was the longest night of my life.” 

Jesse checked the clock. 

“It’s barely even seven.” 

Genji cracked open a bleary eye. 

“I was at the Video Game Awards,” he said, as if that explained everything. 

“I would have thought that would have been a longer ceremony.” 

“It started at five.” 

“So?” 

“Yesterday.” 

“Oh.” 

Jesse put down his book and waited patiently for Genji to get to his point. 

“Aren’t you even going to ask how we did?” 

“How did you do, Genji?” Jesse dutifully asked with only a hint of teasing. 

“We took home Best Game of the Year!” Genji jackknifed into a cheer, punching the air with his fist. “And Best Multiplayer, and Best Game Design!” 

“Congratulations,” said Jesse. “I’m sure your brother will be very proud.” 

Genji let out a groan and buried his face in the couch cushion. 

“That heathen,” he growled, “has no taste.” 

Jesse leaned over and ruffled Genji’s bright green hair. 

“Must run in the family,” he chuckled. “Though at least he’s got a decent head for eats, unlike you.” 

“Take that back!” Genji gasped. “Pizza is the finest food Americans have ever corrupted!” 

“A man can’t live on pizza alone, Genji,” Jesse shook his head. “Not even when you put veggies on it.” 

“Lies!” He threw himself back in a mock faint, then cracked open an eye. “How do you know what my brother eats? Has he thrown more food at you?” 

“Not so far, no.” Jesse tapped the wood of his coffee table as he stood up and ambled to a stack of folded papers tucked under the paperweight on his desk. “We’ve been writing letters, though. Seems safe enough--” 

He barely had time to hold up the pages before Genji sprang up and plucked them from his hand. Quick eyes scanned the words in his brother’s precise script. Jesse watched patiently as Genji’s expression warped from surprised to disbelief to distaste before finally settling on a look of dawning inspiration that promised collateral damage and chaos. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” 

“But Jesse, you agreed with me that my brother has no taste,” cooed Genji. Jesse, seeing where the conversation was heading, glared. 

“Genji, no.” 

“Genji, ye--” Jesse clapped a hand over Genji’s mouth before he could finish. 

“You can’t try to hook up people who’ve never even said hello to each other.” Jesse said. 

“On the contrary. Have you never heard of a blind date?” Genji mumbled through his palm. 

“It ain’t a blind date if we know who the other is,” he sighed. 

“Make up your mind. Either you know him or you don’t.” 

“I know him well enough to know not to speak to him before the caffeine has kicked in, which is about the only time I ever see him.” 

“You should meet him. My best friend should know my brother.” 

“ _ You _ didn’t know your brother was even here until recently.” 

“And now we are reunited!” 

“Does he even know you found him ‘cause of his weirdo downstairs neighbor who keeps spooking him into throwing his food?” 

“Ehh… details… I may have left that part out.” 

Jesse gave him an aggrieved stare. 

“What the hell did you tell him, then?” 

“That a friend saw the similar name and family resemblance, and I tracked him down from that. Hanzo works in a big enough company that he is quite visible.” 

“Well, I never seen him outside the stairwell.” 

“That is because you only leave your apartment for food, books, and conferences.” 

“That ain’t…” Jesse paused, thinking back over the last several months. “I mean. Sometimes I go to parties.” 

“Your crown is a thing of the past, O Great King of Shots.” 

“You come into  _ my _ house and give  _ me _ shit…” 

“Jesse,” Genji said, suddenly more serious than a man in a rumpled tuxedo had any right to be. “I just do not wish you to be lonely.” 

“I ain’t lonely, Genji.” Jesse sighed and took back his stack of letters. 

“You are keeping correspondence about the best place to find a vegetarian burger when I know that neither you nor my brother are vegetarians,” said Genji. “You knew instantly where the letters were in this mess of papers and books, and you could easily reach them. I have seen you lose things the instant you put them down in this storm.” 

“Step off, Genji.” He let a little warning edge into his voice, and Genji sighed. 

“As long as you’re content.” 

Jesse hummed in lieu of answering and pressed down on the loneliness that made a liar of him. No need to let Genji know he was right when he’d just be insufferable about it, after all. Everyone had jobs, and families, and relationships... and it wasn’t like he didn’t see his friends at all. The solitude just tended to…  _ accumulate _ … in the between-times. 

At least now he had the game. 

 

_ Promotion! _

The night air carried the scents and sounds of the city up the hill to Jesse’s balcony, and he breathed them in to push out the stress of a long day fighting with publishers. There were times he almost wished he lived in one of the bygone eras in his papers and books. Then he remembered how much he liked things like indoor plumbing, flavored coffee, and the improving progressiveness of society, and accepted his fate. 

The soft slide-and-click of the balcony door above him brought the knot back to his chest, where it curled up like a lump of ice. He didn’t hear footsteps, but all the same he was suddenly aware of the person standing just above him. 

Hanzo had the kind of stare you could feel on the back of your neck through a shirt collar. 

Jesse turned slowly, catching in the periphery of his vision the instant that Hanzo tensed and stepped back. He thought about saying hello, but memories of flying coffee and fries flickered through his head. He almost let the man retreat entirely until some stubborn part of his weary, lonely soul called him out about always letting the man run away. 

Jesse whistled: long, sharp, and commanding. 

Hanzo stopped. He walked back to the edge of the balcony and peered over the railing with a confused scowl, saying nothing. 

Jesse waved. 

Hanzo stared. 

Jesse waved harder. 

Hanzo’s frown melted into apprehension. 

Jesse held up his hands innocently, mimed zipping his lips, and threw the imaginary key over his shoulder. 

Hanzo smiled, just a little.

Jesse beamed. 

Hanzo held up his empty hands, making a show of his lack of ammunition, and shrugged. 

Jesse leaned on his balcony railing and pointed to Hanzo, gestured to the outdoors, and raised a questioning eyebrow. 

Hanzo motioned to the expanse of the sky above them. Few stars were visible through the city’s light pollution, but it was a clear view of the moon at least. Hanzo returned Jesse’s questioning look, and Jesse just nodded. He mirrored Hanzo’s gesture to the sky and settled in with a soft, fond gaze at the darkened heavens. 

Neither of them moved for a long moment. 

Then Hanzo cleared his throat, and when Jesse looked up he caught a stern frown and a gesture he couldn’t quite decipher. 

He blinked. 

Hanzo rolled his eyes and motioned again, slower: cigar - extinguish. 

_ Ah, not a fan of the smoke.  _

Jesse chuckled and put out the cigarillo. Hanzo gave a smug nod, followed by a softer, warmer look that may actually have been a smile. 

They stood out there a while longer, until the cool air turned into an actual chill, and they parted ways wordlessly. Jesse was surprised to find it had been one of the more refreshing conversations he’d had in ages. Still, he had lingering frustrations to work out, so he booted up Genji’s game for a healthy dose of fictionalized violence and vigilante justice. He didn’t bother to scan the list of his online friends, but a few minutes into a random round, one of them messaged him. 

_DRAGONBORN_ _has invited you to a party._

Jesse smiled to himself and joined. The headset went from dead silent to the warmer quiet of someone’s mic going live. 

“Hello?” DRAGONBORN said. 

“Hey,” Jesse replied. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Where else would we meet?” DRAGONBORN chuckled. “The other games we play do not support multiplayer.”

“We don’t have to be playing the same game to hang out in chat,” Jesse protested. “You’re a good conversationalist. I’ll talk to you anytime.” 

“You are quite possibly the only person in the world to think that. I am not--” a phone buzzed in the background, and DRAGONBORN sighed. “Just a minute.” 

Jesse sat through the clicks and bumps of DRAGONBORN removing his headset. There was some low muttering, too distant to be clear, and what could have been a growl. Jesse wondered if his friend had pets or a really annoying caller. 

After a few minutes, his friend came back. 

“My apologies.” 

“Everything all right?” 

“Yes, just… family.” 

“Ah. Yeah. Well, that’ll do it.” 

“There is nothing I despise quite so much as inexpert matchmaking.” 

“Not a big fan of the blind-date either, huh?” 

“You suffer the same curse of meddling relatives?” 

“Friends, not kin.” Jesse chuckled. “Though that may be worse.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“Of course. Family you ain’t got a choice in what you get dealt. With friends, you gotta look at them when they’re being little shits and remember that you signed up for this.” 

DRAGONBORN burst out laughing and promptly hit his mic in an attempt to cram the giggles back inside. 

“Damn. Sorry. I-- damn!” More scratchy jolts as he shook with mirth. “Are you still there?” 

“I’m here,” Jesse grinned. “You got a real nice laugh, sugar.” 

“I-- oh. Thank you.” The last part came out mumbled, almost to the point of disbelief. 

“You know, if this were the movies, I’d suggest we fake-hook-up to throw our respective wing-men off our tail, but that don’t really work too well with this online situation.” 

“Those are the stories where everyone suffers unnecessary emotional distress because they cannot simply communicate, correct?” 

“Yeah… that’s like… half of Western Literature, darlin’.” 

“Mmm…” There was a lilt to DRAGONBORN’s voice that made Jesse think he might be holding back his laughter. 

“You’re making fun of my tag, ain’t ya.” 

“I do not need to stoop so low as to mock a man whose chosen monicker is WESTERNLIT.” 

Jesse sighed. 

“I was young and stupid, okay?” 

DRAGONBORN just hummed. 

They made it through the entire match before Jesse realized that DRAGONBORN never turned him down. 

 

_ Installing Patch… _

It became something of a habit for Jesse to catch Hanzo out on the balcony on Friday nights.  _ Date night _ , Jesse’s unhelpful brain reminded him when they shared what little silence could be found in the city and watched the sky. Jesse, by virtue of working from home, was almost always outside first. Hanzo arrived later, usually by half-past six but rarely later than seven. The warmth of summer drew out their wordless meetings longer and longer, and one night Hanzo held up a bag with a self-deprecating smile. Jesse recognized it as carry-out from one of the restaurants he had recommended. 

Jesse gave him a thumbs up, thinking he was congratulating Hanzo for his choice in dinner, but Hanzo did what Jesse probably should have expected and dropped the bag on him. Jesse yelped, but managed to catch it before it hit the ground. He shot Hanzo an embarrassed grin, only to find the other man had buried his face in his hands and was leaning on the railing for support. 

Jesse glanced in the bag and found a note written on a napkin: 

_ You should benefit from your own good taste. _

There was also small plastic tub of what looked like kimchi, and a tin-foil wrapped shape as thick as his wrist that had to be the Giant Bulgogi Burrito from the Korean-Mexican fusion place he’d recommended to Hanzo earlier in the week. Jesse beamed bright enough to outshine the moon. 

 

Another time, one not too much later, Jesse whistled for Hanzo’s attention and tossed his silver flask up over the railing. Hanzo caught it with more grace than Jesse was expecting considering how easily every other foodstuff had slipped through his hands, but he raised an eyebrow in confusion as he examined it. Jesse mimed unscrewing the lid and taking a sip. Hanzo obliged, winced, and then scowled. 

_ Not a fan of bourbon _ , Jesse guessed, but Hanzo took another drink with a more considering look before he screwed the cap back on and tossed it back. Jesse took a pull of his own and relished the burn. It may have been his imagination or it could have been the bourbon, but he thought Hanzo’s cheeks looked a little darker than they had before. 

The week after that, Hanzo produced a bottle of sake, and they spent nearly ten whole minutes trying to figure out the safest way to transport the cups it was supposed to be served in before Hanzo gave up and shimmied over the side of his balcony, dropping easily onto Jesse’s. Jesse whistled, low and impressed. They sat under the stars and drank the entire bottle without saying a single word. Hanzo scrambled back up to his own balcony easily, only needing Jesse’s hand on his back to help sturdy him a moment as he balanced on the railing. 

Week after week, they continued to meet. They shared drinks. They traded food. They sat outside, and the moon and stars crawled across the sky. But they never said anything.  

 

_ Level 110 _

“...so I said, ‘I don’t care who, but one of us has got to go.’ And wouldn’t you know it, he picked the damn toaster.” Jesse waited for DRAGONBORN’s laughter to die down. “And that’s how you lose a fight with a grilled cheese sandwich.” 

“For what it is worth,” his friend managed through the chuckles, “you are probably better off without that particular ex-lover.” 

“It probably wouldn’t’ve pissed me off so much if it hadn’t been  _ my _ toaster in the first place.” Jesse sighed. “I’d gotten it all broken in, too. Took forever to figure out how to get that magical crispness between warm bread and charcoal.” 

“You deserve to be appreciated for more than your kitchen appliances.” 

Jesse felt his cheeks begin to cramp from smiling too long. 

“Yeah, well, let that be a lesson, darlin’. Never tango with someone who won’t take your food recommendations seriously. It’ll only end in tears.” 

“I… I cannot say I have had that particular problem.” Some of the mirth faded from DRAGONBORN’s voice. The undertone of wistfulness carried through the line.

“Well, I’m sure that’s on account of your impeccable taste.” Jesse licked his lips and tried to salvage the light mood. “Let’s put that to a test. Coffee or tea?” 

DRAGONBORN snorted. 

“Tea.” 

“Ha! See, there you go.” 

“There I go?” 

“Tea’s the fancy option. Impeccable, just like I said.” 

“Tea is no more fancy than coffee.” 

“Tea goes in fancy china cups with gold on ‘em. Coffee’s for gigantic mugs that you forget on the counter until they’ve gone cold and you have to microwave ‘em and regret your life choices.” 

“Having done both, I can assure you that tea is absolutely for forgetting until it is cold and disgusting.” DRAGONBORN chuckled.

“Well, what about all the different kinds? Black, green, red, herbal…” 

“You say as if your coffee is any different? What is a mocha cappuccino, anyway?”

“It’s espresso and foam with chocolate,” interrupted EDGED in the roughest, deepest, most I-Am-The-Night Vigilante voice he could possibly grit out. “Do you two  _ have _ to do this on the team chat?” 

“We’re winning, ain’t we?” Jesse said cheekily. “Ain’t like you’ve been giving orders or nothing.” 

“He’s got a point,” 76 chimed in. 

“Don’t you start, Mr. Burns-His-Coffee.” 

“Says the man who keeps getting whipped cream in his mustache.” 

“And he said  _ we _ were bad.” Jesse laughed. 

“You are incorrigible,” DRAGONBORN said. “But it suits you. So which are you? Coffee, or tea?”

“I’ll take whatever’ll put caffeine in my system,” he replied. “Tea’s good for rainy days and first impressions, and coffee is good for just about every other time. You ever tried chai latte?”

“I cannot say that I have.” 

“It’s good, real good. Next time you get out to the coffee shop, try that one, or maybe a flat white. That’s a coffee drink.”

“I have… bad luck… with coffee, but I just cannot stop drinking it.” DRAGONBORN sighed. 

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Jesse smiled ruefully and thought of the coffee once thrown at his head. “But it can’t be all bad. Here, next time you go out, get yourself one of them and just sit for a while and savor it.”

“It hardly seems right to drink it without you.”

Heat flooded Jesse’s cheeks, and he was glad that there was no one there to see him blush. 

“Well, I’ll be there in spirit, darlin’.” He said. “I’d meet you in a heartbeat if I could, but--” 

“No personal info, especially not in chat.” 76 said brusquely. He sounded far too much like an old chaperone to Jesse. 

“We know, we know.” He sighed.

DRAGONBORN cleared his throat. 

“The sentiment…” He said. “I, as well. If we had met any other way…” 

“GET A ROOM!” EDGED roared. 

 

_ Server Upgrades _

On the one hand, DRAGONBORN’s low, airy voice kept conversation with him over game chats for a few hours most nights. 

On the other hand, he and Hanzo shared companionable silence, carry-out, and occasional drinks. 

Between the two of them, it was like actually having a whole… he hesitated to use any kind of label, but whatever it was, it certainly did wonders for that loneliness that gnawed away at him. Maybe Genji was right, and he did have to get out more and do things with people again. Maybe he didn’t want to, especially if it meant sacrificing the time he had already carved out as precious with Hanzo and DRAGONBORN.

Things were going fantastically, after all…

… at least until Genji showed up with pizza again. 

“Oh Hell.” Jesse sighed, seeing not just one, but two boxes of chocolate fudge cakes. “Whatever it is, the answer is “no”.” 

“You don’t want the chocolate?” Genji raised an eyebrow. 

“I don’t want trouble. Whatever it is you’re asking, it’s trouble.” 

“Hey, my last request turned out pretty well, didn’t it?” 

Jesse grunted and took the pizza to the kitchen. 

Two pieces later, he caved. 

“I’m not quitting the game to start another one.” 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it so much,” Genji smiled warmly, “but that is not what I was going to ask.”

“What, then?” 

Genji took a deep breath.

“There’s a convention.” 

“No.” 

“Jesse.” 

“When.” 

“November.” 

“Nov-- _ November _ ?” 

“It’s a big deal for the company!” 

“And you want me to show up for what, my stellar conversation?” 

Genji pulled the serape off the back of the couch. 

“Do you still have the hat?” 

“Oh  _ hell _ no.” 

“I know you have the pants and shirt. Do you own chaps?” 

“Genji, no.” 

“Cowboy, yes.” 

“Genji--” 

“I will buy you some if you don’t have any--”

“Genji!” Jesse snapped. “I ain’t gonna dress up like a character from your video game and wander around a convention full of real gamers.” 

“You do not see yourself as a real gamer?” 

“Not enough to cosplay.” 

Genji pouted.

“But you already have all the clothes! It’s all what you normally wear!” 

Jesse groaned. 

“And what do I get out of this arrangement, huh? What do I get for spending my weekend surrounded by people gawking at me and talking about the dozen other games your company makes that I don’t play?” 

“A free vacation spent with your friend?” Genji smiled winningly. “You’ll get to meet EDGED and 76.”

Jesse said nothing. 

“Come on, Jesse. You didn’t even go camping this summer. You’ve hardly left your apartment.” 

“...Fine. Send me the dates. I’ll make sure I don’t have anything due around then.” 

Genji beamed. 

“You won’t regret this!” 

 

_ Arcade _

Jesse regretted it. He regretted it immediately. He was old hat at conventions, but most of them were academic or historically focused. No matter how many books he published, no one ever gave him a second look at those things. 

People looked at The Cowboy. 

People looked at  _ Jesse _ as The Cowboy. 

He was more than a little annoyed that all it took to turn himself into a cartoon character was a prop gun and a light-up paintball vest. He didn’t even have to shave. 

Genji slapped him on the back as they stepped into the hotel lobby and stared out the door to the convention center across the street.

“This will be fun!” He crowed. Jesse shifted uncomfortably as a few people visibly looked him over like a hunk of meat on the butcher’s block. 

“I hate you,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“No, you don’t.” Genji bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, the orange scarf of his Ninja costume fluttering around him. 

“I wanna go home.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“I look ridiculous.” 

“You look like you normally do.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“You are mostly wearing your own clothes.” 

“Genji--” 

“Ah-ha!” Genji yelled and practically scaled Jesse like a tree to balance on his shoulders. Passersby stopped to take pictures of The Ninja on top of The Cowboy. Jesse scowled and shrugged him off, but Genji alternated between waving to someone on the other side of the lobby and elbowing Jesse in the armor. 

“Stop scowling. You will scare him away.” 

“Scare who--” 

Jesse glanced to where Genji pointed, only to have his heart stop as he saw an Archer push his way through the crowd. 

Not just  _ an _ Archer,  _ The Archer _ . 

Jesse’s mouth went dry. 

Hanzo Shimada stopped short, eyes wide. 

“Brother, I am glad you made it!” Genji grabbed Hanzo’s wrist and pulled him closer. “Jesse, this is my older brother, Hanzo Shimada. Hanzo, this is my best friend, Jesse McCree.” 

“You.” Hanzo gaped, voice choked by shock. 

“You.” Jesse offered back, just as weakly. 

“The traditional greetings are “hello” and “nice to meet you”, added Genji, unperturbed by the murderous looks he would have received had they not still been frozen. For all the time they spent on the balconies, sharing food and drink and warmth, they still had yet to properly exchange spoken words, and here they were making a muddle of it again. 

Hanzo closed his mouth and swallowed. He seemed suddenly aware of the exposure his costume - The Archer’s traditional gear - gave him, and he hurriedly tugged the left sleeve back up over his very realistic looking tattoo. 

Jesse licked his lips. In the periphery of his vision, he caught sight of a certain logo, and inspiration struck. He held up one finger in a “wait” gesture and darted over to the coffee stand. Hanzo and Genji exchanged curious, then embarrassed looks as Jesse worked his way through the line. 

“Lemme get one of them venti chai lattes, non-fat, if you please.” He said. Hanzo’s face went ashen on hearing the deep, rumbling drawl, and he spun around to his brother. 

“What?” Genji blinked. He reeled back as Hanzo grabbed him by the shoulders. 

“How did you arrange this?” He hissed in Japanese. “How did you even know? Does he know? Did you tell him?”

“That you were neighbors? That is how I found you, actually. He said his neighbor was named Shimada and looked like the character I designed for you -- which you do not play, by the way. Do not give me that look; I asked Satya to keep an eye on you when you got started, and she said all you play now is The Cowboy! I should tell him that. It might amuse him, since he was the inspiration for the character. Maybe you can play together in the future.” 

“You-- do you-- you--!”

Jesse returned bearing a cup, and Hanzo very nearly hid behind his brother. Genji provided no protection; Jesse simply walked around him, grabbed Hanzo’s hand, and deposited the cup into it. 

“Can’t go breaking tradition now, can we?” he said. 

“Urk,” said Hanzo, choking on his tongue. 

“Er, you okay, Hanzo? Is it okay if I call you Hanzo? I know we ain’t been formally introduced before now, but I’d like to think we shared enough drinks we can use first names. Just correct me if I’m wrong, though.” Jesse realized he was rambling, and that Hanzo was still staring at him wordlessly. 

“I apologize for my brother,” Genji sighed. “Apparently all the social graces in the family came to me.” 

“Naw, it’s alright.” Jesse gave a hang-dog smile that seemed all the sadder for his cowboy getup. “Suppose I just oughta be glad he didn’t throw it at me after all. Shucks, this is probably the longest he’s let me prattle on for. I had, what, five whole sentences? Some people just ain’t meant to talk to each other, I guess.” He turned a gentle gaze back to Hanzo, whose stare was quickly sharpening. “Nice to meet you officially, then. Enjoy the latte. Genji, I’m gonna go see if I can find--” 

“Wait.” Hanzo’s free hand reached out and grabbed Jesse’s serape. Jesse paused. His brows knit together below the brim of his hat as his memory prodded the familiar sound. 

“Come again?” 

“We have spoken before. You are WESTERNLIT.” 

Comprehension hit Jesse as if Hanzo had thrown the latte in his face. Heat flooded his cheeks, his heart rate spiked, and words burned his tongue and lips. All that made it out was one incredulous: 

“DRAGONBORN?!”

“You didn’t know.” Hanzo’s shoulders sagged in relief. In his distraction, he missed Genji pilfering the latte and slipping away. 

“Of course I didn’t know; you hardly said three words to me face-to-face.” Jesse took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Wonders never cease. How long have you known who I am?” 

“About two minutes,” Hanzo replied. “I recognized your voice when you ordered.” 

Jesse let out a whistle. He scrubbed at his eyes, looked at Hanzo again, and put his hat back on. 

“Is it… It’s really you? For real? I just feel like I gotta be dreaming. Quick, say something arrogant and kinda hot.” 

“What?” Hanzo blinked, derailed and blushing. 

“Something bossy, you know, like we’re losing the point or something! Like when we play.” 

Hanzo sighed, but the corner of his lips dimpled with a repressed smile. 

“They are taking the objective. Stop them,” he said, deadpan flat. 

Jesse pouted. 

“Where’s the fire, DRAGONBORN? How am I supposed to know it’s really you and not a figment of my imagination on account of Genji giving me bad pizza?” 

“Genji’s diet  _ would _ poison someone to hallucinations…” Hanzo murmured thoughtfully. “For that matter, how do I know that  _ you _ are real, and not some clever ploy of my brother’s to try and ‘hook me up’?” 

 

In that instant, the prospect of loneliness turned Jesse’s heart into a crucible. The two people closest to being an actual romantic option in his life turned out to be the same person, a person who he knew for a fact was not interested in being the victim of Genji’s matchmaking. Sheer and flimsy hope fell away like a torn curtain, revealing the dusty, moth-eaten gauze that had dared to masquerade as voile under the glow of joy. 

The look on his face made Hanzo’s eyes widen, and he clutched Jesse’s serape tighter. 

“What I meant to say,” he rasped, voice suddenly low and urgent, “is that it is nice to meet you. And, because my brother has so unhelpfully stolen the drink you gave me, would you like to get coffee with me? If I recall, you have made some interesting recommendations...” 

Jesse’s smile was inexorable as the dawn. 

“Absolutely.” He beamed. “But let’s stick to tea. We got better luck there.” 

 

_ Lootbox _

“I,” announced Genji as he threw himself onto a couch across from Gabriel and Jack, “am the King of Awesome.” 

“You wish,” Gabriel snorted, running his fingers through Jack’s hair as Jack maneuvered The Reaper across the field. 

“Don’t start,” Jack muttered distractedly. He materialized behind a Sniper and unloaded his shotguns at her. The blue ballerina died with a scream, and he smirked triumphantly. 

“I arranged for the two best cosplayers anyone could have of our characters.” Genji preened. 

“Your brother and your buddy aren’t cosplaying if you just put them into the game as is in the first place,” Gabriel replied.

“They’re shippable.” Genji buffed his nails on his vest. 

“Jack and I are shippable,” said Gabriel. “Your brother and your buddy are the walking definition of UST.” 

“They are shipping right now.” Genji grinned. “Even as we speak, there are at least a dozen people seeing them drink chai lattes and posting it to the internet.” 

Neither Jack nor Gabriel said anything for a long minute. 

“Damn,” Gabriel sighed. 

“I’ll start storyboards for the comic when I’m done this match,” Jack groaned. 

Genji grinned. 

“King of Awesome.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jezi and seizure7 for world-building help.


End file.
